The Love of a Good Woman
by Robert Cora Fan
Summary: Robert, Viscount Downton enjoys the best society has to offer a young Victorian aristocrat, and yet feels constrained by his ancestral responsibilities. The duty to his future estates requires marriage to a wealthy - American! - heiress. After the wedding and the requisite trip to the New York, his life can surely continue as normal...can't it?
1. Prologue

A/N: I'm not really sure about this fic (or even the premise). If you do think I've got it badly wrong, please PM me!

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_My dear fellow, we all have __chapters__ we would rather keep unpublished._

He was utterly helpless...

...trapped beneath her, he watched the way her thighs slid against his pelvis, the way her breasts moved with every thrust, the way his own fingers dug into her hips...

...and then she smiled at him.

That smile - and the wicked glint in her eye - sent him straight over the edge. He roared her name as the orgasm ripped through his body and slowly dissipated...

Her frustrated sigh brought him back to reality. He was unapologetic. "You know what happens...when you-" she leant on his chest, clearly amused by his awkwardness "-do _that_."

"Make it up to me." She had already slid off him and placed his hand between her legs. He felt the slippery wetness between her thighs and pulled a face.

"I'm not very good..."

"There's no need to be squeamish." She twisted his fingers to the right place; he dutifully began to move...

"...harder...mmm...that's _it..." _She wrapped her leg round his waist and rocked her hips back against his fingers. He studied her expression with growing interest - eyes tightly closed, teeth nipping her lips, face screwed up in concentration...

"...use your thumb." Stilling his hand, she turned it round to push deeper, moving his thumb to the spot where his fingers had been...

The effect was immediate. She arched her back and cried out as he eagerly increased the pace...

"_Robert..._"

His free hand circled her breast, hearing her muffled scream as she clenched round his fingers...

He hadn't finished.

Rolling them both over, he moved his hand to pin her to the bed. Her whimpers only spurred him on, driving into her until his own desire was satiated...He finally released her, stretched out on his back and closed his eyes in contentment...

"Get dressed." He opened his eyes in time to see his clothes being thrown at him.

"It's still early..."

"Joseph is meeting Opposition MPs this afternoon. I need to support him."

"But..." He mournfully watched her slip back into the lacy chemise...

"I am his wife, Robert."

He stood up and slowly began to dress, still distracted by the sight of his lover stepping into her gown. She turned round and rolled her eyes at his lack of progress.

"Let me help." She held his shirt out for him, then came round to the front, glancing her fingers over his chest and neck as she fastened each button and attached the collar. She slowly undid his fly, pretending to fumble with the button while rubbing her hand over the front of his trousers.

"Stop it..." He tried reaching for her wrists, but she was too quick for him. She dodged his grasp with an impish giggle while continuing to dress him - tucking his shirt in, snapping his braces on his shoulders, doing up cuff links and tightly knotting his tie. He was already finding it difficult to breathe.

"I could be your valet," she whispered in his ear, pressing her hands to his chest.

"We'd never get out the house. Anyway, I already have a valet."

"You'll find my skills quite..." her hands drifted down his chest "..._extensive_, milord."

His fingers clenched; he considered whether he had the strength throw her back to bed - or the wall! - and wipe that coy smile off her face...

She had already moved away to check her appearance in the mirror.

"Waistcoat. Jacket. Shoes." She busied herself with her own toilette. "Unless you want any more help?"

He quickly complied. She appraised his reflection in the mirror, gave an approving nod and beckoned him out the room.

Any attempt at propriety now was surely meaningless when the whole house had heard what they were doing. He nevertheless kept a respectable distance behind her as they walked downstairs.

When they reached the entrance hall, she squeezed his hand and smiled knowingly.

"Thank you for a _very _productive afternoon, Lord Downton."

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_A/N: Um, yeah...although this chapter is important, the fic is not all about sex (just as well, because I don't think I'm very good at writing it - sorry!) In fact, this is the only seriously M-rated chapter._

_Stick with it - the next chapters will include - wait for it - an actual PLOT!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews for what was admittedly a rather odd first chapter! I'm still not sure whether I'm on the right track with this fic, so any further feedback would be appreciated..._

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"Lord Grantham has asked to speak to you, milord."

Robert Crawley groaned. He had planned to slip back into the House unnoticed, hoping for time alone to recover from the heightened state of arousal that Lady Shrewsbury always left him in. The last thing he needed was an interview with his father. He walked half-heartedly towards the Study, knocking on the door and pushing it open.

His father was standing by the window, deep in conversation with someone else, whom - judging by the sharp cut of his suit - Robert judged to be a professional man.

"You wanted to speak to me?"

"Ah - Robert." Lord Grantham made the necessary introductions:

"My son - Viscount Downton...This is Mr Newman - an accountant from the City. He's been discussing possible solutions to our financial troubles."

"_Our _financial troubles?"

His father turned to the accountant, who nervously began to speak: "The latest corn prices have left Downton in a rather perilous financial position. At less than 50 shillings per quarter, the current way of life is unsustainable-"

"Way of life - I don't follow?"

"The _aristocratic _way of life, milord. Hunts, balls, and so on..."

"I see." Robert slowly comprehended what the man has just said. "So...what are we going to do?"

Newman coughed. "Downton Abbey does have certain _assets_, milord. The portrait of Charles I by Van Dyke-" Robert nods impatiently "- would fetch at least £10,000 at auction, if not more-"

"Have I got this right? The _plan_ is to sell off bits of Downton, one by one, until...what? There's nothing left?"

He looked towards his father, angry that his inheritance that will be decimated, angry that he was not told of the parlous situation earlier.

"There is another way, Robert." Lord Grantham looked back to the accountant, who ponderously continued:

"The problem with selling the assets is that there would eventually be, as you Lordship put it, _nothing left to sell_ if another crisis were to occur. It would also require an Act of Parliament to break the entail on Downton's possessions..."

"Forgive me," he interrupted. "There is another solution - another way out?"

"If Your Lordship were to marry an heiress..."

Robert scoffs. "There is only one suitable heiress in England - Margaret Renwick - and she is already spoken for."

"But an American heiress-"

"An _American_?"

"Think about it, Robert." His father eagerly interjected. "It would solve all our problems at one stroke."

"But..." As he tries to come up with _something _to say, he leant back against the writing desk, watching his father dismiss the accountant.

As soon as they were alone, Lord Grantham walked to the drink tray to pour out two tumblers of whisky, handing one to his son.

"I'm sorry. I've done all I can but," he took a sip from his glass "-the real problem is cheap corn from North America." Robert snorted at the irony. "We haven't got the acreage to compete."

"I understand." His did not exactly blame his father for the predicament - why was it that _his _life had to change so drastically? He stared into the whisky glass, looking for a solution to the problem in the golden brown liquor. "Surely Mama wouldn't allow an American at Downton?" There was no reply, leaving Robert to draw the inevitable conclusion: "She doesn't know? You've waited until she's gone out-"

"I wouldn't be the only one to go behind your Mama's back, would I, Robert? How _is _Lady Shrewsbury these days?" He felt the shameful heat creep up his neck and cheeks, mortified that his father could mention - could even _know_ - of his escapades this afternoon. "I will deal with your mother. In the meantime - the Edgeworth Ball. Go along and- "

"-select the future Countess of Grantham?"

"It's not an entirely unappealing prospect, Robert."

"_Really_?" He recalled the few Americans he has met - loud, over-dressed and ill-mannered. "I fail to see the _appeal."_

"I've heard they are quite charming..."

"It will be like the Judgment of Paris," he muttered, draining his whisky glass.

"Sometimes sacrifices need to be made. For Downton."

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_A/N: I've decided against adding lots of background notes. If you want to know more, try typing Corn Laws into Google. The story of the Dukes of Marlborough at Blenheim Palace is also quite interesting._

_Anyway...I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please do let me know if you think I've got anything wrong._


	3. Chapter 3

There was a good reason why Robert hated balls. He had been introduced to - and compelled to dance with - people whom he had no intention of meeting ever again. His obligations duly dispensed, he headed for the refreshment room, in search of a stiff drink to fortify him for the trials ahead-

"Good evening."

_American. _It wasn't just the accent; it was the complete absence of propriety.

"We haven't been introduced," he muttered, paying her scant attention. "And YOU are unescorted."

"Oh."

He turned round to look at the woman he had slighted. It saw her eyes first - deep blue-azure eyes amid a flawless complexion She looked crestfallen. Someone - presumably the mother - hovered in the background. Not entirely unescorted then.

"Viscount Downton." He bowed slightly.

"Miss Levinson. I am happy to make your acquaintance, Lord Downton." The rehearsed words came out in an anxious rush. Her nerves and awkwardness were entirely his fault. He tried to adopt a lighter, more encouraging tone:

"Shall I have the pleasure of dancing with you then, Miss Levinson?"

Her infectious smile reached her eyes and lit up her face.

"It would be MY pleasure, my Lord."

* * *

He had danced the waltz enough times for the steps to be engraved in his brain. His gloved hand rested lightly on the small of her back, effortlessly twirling her round the room. His dance partner was young - too young for the politics and games of the Season - unquestionably her first Season, for someone this pretty would be married off before long.

And she _was _pretty. She wore little jewellery or adornments; her beautiful dark hair had been simply braided and pinned up, showing off her slender neck and the palest ivory dress. He recalled one of his mother's maxims - _only the most slender, sylph-like girls may successfully wear lighter colours. _Miss Levinson - and her gown - certainly fitted into that category. He presumed the smaller details - the delicate lace and tiny bows which he quickly averted his eyes from - were fashionable, the whole ensemble undoubtedly having been acquired from the most expensive Paris fashion houses-

"Have you recently been to Paris?"

She smiled slightly. "We've just returned, my Lord."

"Did you have a chance to see much of the city?"

"The Lourve , Notre Dame..." she rattled off the usual Parisian landmarks. "...the Bastille."

"I thought there was nothing left after the Revolution..."

"No, there's a monument - the July Column." He saw her playful smirk and the sparkle in her eyes while his mind drew the obvious parallels. Was she teasing him? He steered the conversation to safer territory:

"And now you're in London for the Season."

"Yes..." she paused slightly, continuing in a quiet, wistful tone. "...and then home - to New York."

"You must be looking forward to going home."

"I guess. London's so..." She stopped abruptly, as if remembering just who she was talking to. "But I'm sure I'll get used to it."

This time the smile didn't reach her eyes. The music stopped, ending their awkward conversation. He escorted her back to her family, conceding one thing-

He had finally met an American whose company he could tolerate - no, an American whom he found pretty, charming and _interesting._

_That _was a miracle indeed.

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_A/N: I've tried to get the manners and etiquette right but I'm no expert. And yes...I think Robert __**would**__ be this snobbish and bigoted at this point in his life - sorry, he will get his comeuppance!  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews - think I'm getting a handle on this story now. Just a short update this week - but I've had a lot of fun with this :-) Next chapter will be longer._

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"PERFECT!" Lord Grantham eagerly scanned the file on his desk, occasionally reading out interesting excerpts: "...George Henry Levinson...founded one of the best-known dry goods firms in the world...his interest in the firm continued for sixteen years...When he retired from the dry goods business it was to devote his attention to his real estate holdings..."

"Really Edward," his wife interjected, raising her hand in mock disgust, "we don't need to know the sordid details."

"...his only daughter, Cora Mary Levinson, was born in 1870..."

"So the poor girl is barely eighteen-"

"I don't remember you being concerned about the _poor girl_ yesterday..." he murmured, barely looking up.

"Of course I'm concerned. You mean to drag her across the ocean, to a position to which she is highly unsuited - with _no_ previous experience or _any _idea how to behave-"

"She knows perfectly well how to behave, Mama." Robert remembered the quiet elegance of the woman with whom he had danced last night. "Her manners were flawless."

His mother's shrewd eyes alighted on him. "I _am_ impressed, Robert. Tell me - how long it take you to reach such an insightful conclusion? Was it just the one dance?"

"Mama-"

"I accept that these girls are attractive to-" she gestured vaguely in his direction "-young men - the adornments, the dress, even the _accent _is no doubt exotic and alluring. But what happens they get to Downton - or _any other country house_?"

"I'm sure she will get along well enough, my dear."

"You would do well not to disparage my role, Edward...

Robert stared out the window in an effort to quell his growing frustration. The quarrel was taking a familiar pattern - his father's gentle teasing against his mother's shrill responses. Meanwhile,_ his _future was under discussion!

**"...**Is this American going to have the skills to manage staff, host a dinner party, select menus, have the slightest idea of precedence-"

**"**We have a copy of _Burke's Peerage _in the Library."

"And have you thought about Robert? He will have to deal with the ignominy of an ignorant wife. I refuse to allow a barbaric, untrained _American_ to supplant my position as mistress of Downton."

" Mama is rather overstating the case, but-" Robert looked towards his father "-perhaps she is right?"

Lord Grantham replaced the file back on his desk, finally turning his attention to his wife and son. "_Downton_ has been my sole consideration throughout this process. The plain fact is that the estate alone does not provide an adequate income. It would take just one more set-back and the house - not the contents - the _house_ would have to be sold."

"You exaggerate..."

"I am not prepared to take that chance." The sharp retort instantly ended the argument, although it was quickly replaced by an engaging smile:

"I think it would be good to meet Miss Levinson. Could you draw upon your wealth of experience to arrange a dinner party?"

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_A/N: So...what do you think of Lord and Lady Grantham? Don't know if this chapter is too confusing - I didn't want to upset the flow with lots of he/she says._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I'm sorry this update is late. I'm on holiday, so Internet (and computer) access is a bit patchy.  
_

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He had made a mistake.

He imagined a quiet family dinner would be less intimidating for Miss Levinson, but had not counted on his family's curiosity concerning their American guest. The usual dull conversational topics (not to mention the accustomed standards of etiquette) had been replaced with a near-interrogation - the purpose of her visit, her impressions of London, plans following her _vacation. _She joined in enthusiastically, unaware that her elaborate responses and overblown gestures would almost certainly be repeated back to him later:

"...it's a _Visite_ dress, made from white silk with beads and braiding."

Her detailed description of French fashion left him cold, although his sister seemed to be paying rapt attention:

"Charles Worth really is quite wonderful. I should take a trip to Paris next year."

"I shouldn't bother, Rosamund." His mother waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sure Mr Worth has enough _nouveau riche_ Americans to keep him busy into 1890 and beyond."

Robert winced, automatically checking the reaction of his dinner guest. She was still smiling - either she had not noticed the slight or she had chosen to ignore it:

"He says Americans are his best customers."

"I'm sure he does, my dear."

"And how many dresses did you buy?" his cousin's wife interjected.

"Twelve."

"It all seems somewhat elaborate - and expensive to me."

"It was an eighteenth birthday gift. My father said money was-"

"Please!"Lady Grantham looked outraged._ "Not_ at the dinner table."

"Actually, money is pretty essential to-"

"_Many _things are essential to life. That does _not_ make them suitable topics for the dinner table." His mother looked towards him, as if he were personaly responsible for his guest's faux pas.

"I read about a statue in New York," he began, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"The Statue of Liberty," she beamed at him. "My parents contributed funds to its completion-"

"Money _again_," his mother sighed theatrically.

"It's a sculpture to represent Liberty. She's holding a torch and a tablet inscribed with the date of the Declaration of Independence."

He could sense his mother's indignation without looking. "So, Robert, do you intend to commemorate the 4th of June-"

"July." At least three voices corrected what he knew was a deliberate mistake.

"-or bring some hideous monstrosity to Downton?"

"It's alright," his cousin quipped. "I don't think the Statue of Liberty travels well."

Robert mutely looked down at the cakes still on his plate, having lost his appetite a long time ago. He wished he were somewhere else - _anywhere _but this interminable, excruciating dinner.

Lord Grantham cleared his throat. "I met the new Earl of Strathclyde today."

"Really?" His mother's interest was piqued. "Is he anything like his uncle? I have _never _known anyone so..."

He was grateful for his father's timely intervention. The conversation drifted from their foreign guest to the usual gossip concerning mutual friends and acquaintances. He took a deep breath, finally feeling able to relax, except-

He turned round to catch her looking at him, their eyes meeting for just a moment before she looked away with a muttered apology.

"It's alright. I..." He tries to think of something to say but all conversational topics seemed to have been exhausted. He sat in near silence until the women went through to the drawing room, leaving him to the sweet comforts of brandy and cigars and the dubious companionship of his father and cousin.

"Your beloved American has a lot to say for herself," his cousin smirked while Robert tried to hide his annoyance. He envied James - a man who seemed to lead a charmed life of pleasure without responsibility. "At least she's civilized."

"Really James." He took a long drag of his cigar. "What did you expect? They're not savages - despite what Mama thinks. And she's not _my beloved American."_

"I can see the attraction."

Robert closed his eyes to shut out his cousin's lecherous grin. He took a deep, calming breath, trying to control his anger. The conversation continued without him.

"Twenty million dollars," his father proclaimed. "T_hat's _the attraction."

"Really?" James whistled through his teeth. "So the dowry would be...?"

If they can afford to squander money on a damn _lighthouse_-"

"That's ENOUGH!" He abruptly stood up and glared at the two men. "That girl in there-" he pointed towards the drawing room "-is not a commodity to be bought and sold. I refuse to uproot her from everything she knows to...to-" he gestured round the room "-_this_."

"Robert-"

"No, I won't have it!"

The cool, knowing glances between his father and his cousin only stoked his anger further. He almost knocked over the brandy bottle in his rush to escape the room.

_This American connection would not - could not - take place._

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A/N: Not sure if I've got everything right - facts, tone, characters, etc. Let me know what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I'm sorry I haven't kept up with this story! I'll try to post another chapter tomorrow as well._

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"I'm not in the mood." He halted the creeping progress of her hand on his thigh. She flounced to her vanity table, visibly annoyed:

"Why _are _you here then, Robert?"

Good question.

His weekly visits to Shrewsbury House - or more specifically Lady Shrewsbury - had become as much a part of his Season as the cricket, parties and race meets. It was been a chance to let go of his self-control and surrender to other, more enticing demands.

Today was different. Today he could only think about the heated family arguments regarding his future. His father's parting words stuck in his mind: _your marriage will save Downton for future generations._

From his position on her bed, he glumly watched her pull the pins out her hair and heard the metallic sound of each one dropping onto the vanity.

"Haven't you got a maid to do that?"

"With you sat on the bed? I'm not _that _shameless."

He stood up promptly. "I'll go." He waited, hoping for at least her acknowledgement. She wearily relented:

"What's wrong?"

"My father is sending me to New York-"

"-to marry an heiress. I know."

It was far from the reaction he expected.

"What do you mean - you _know?_"

"Grantham's financial troubles are common knowledge in the City." She continued fiddling with her hair in the mirror, seemingly unaware of his astonishment. "He came very close to selling Downton last summer."

Robert sank back onto the bed...Last year...He recalled the talk of 'cutting back' and economising...But he never knew...

"Why wasn't I informed?"

She turned round with a smirk. "You must have been otherwise engaged."

"I should have done something to help..."

"You're helping now."

"How? Dragging across the Atlantic a young woman I barely know - let alone love? I thought arranged marriages were abolished in the last century."

"Surely you're not that naive," she murmured.

"And how can she ever be expected to manage an estate like Downton - especially with Mama's constant nit picking?"

The same arguments with his father had been met with a terse rebuttal. Jennie's reaction was strikingly different. She rose and walked towards him, dark hair tumbling down her shoulders. The effect was intentionally provocative.

"It's a good deal."

"I beg your pardon?"

She stood in front of him, pressing her hands to his chest. He resisted the urge to pull her closer.

"Your title, her fortune. It's a good deal."

"That's a very cold approach."

"But perhaps one an American would understand?"

"I'm not unaware of the business aspects." He slid his hands over the front of her dress, giving in to temptation. "But Miss Levinson is just as powerless as I am."

"Is she? I was twenty when I married Joseph. It was difficult at first, but I _liked_ being married. At home, I would never have had as much freedom or independence."

"You've certainly made the most of it," he chuckled. He suddenly felt much more cheerful, although he couldn't decide if it was from what Jennie had said, what she was doing...

Or what she was about to do.

He let her push him back to the bed and settle on top.

"The arrangement works. Separate lives - but coming together for important functions."

"Hmm..." She stroked her hands firmly over his body, rendering speech and thought impossible. He unfastened and swiftly removed her gown, exposing just how little she was wearing underneath.

"Marry your pretty young American. And then _your _life-" she deftly unbuttoned his trousers "-can get back to normal."

_Jennie was right. He would go to New York, marry Miss Levinson, and then-_

He took a deep breath as her hand slipped inside his underwear-

-_get back to normal._


	7. Chapter 7

_The New Yorkers have got Aladdin's lamp, and build palaces in a night. The city is gay, entertaining, full of costly things - but its lavish spending does not result in magnificence, it is showy rather than fine...expensive rather than beautiful. Architecture is not practiced as a fine art, it is known here only as a name for the building trade._

_- Charles E. Norton_

* * *

Noise.

That was his first impression of New York - a Babel of languages distorted into a distinctive dialect, the scrape and thud of luggage and the familiar snorts and clip-clop of horses - all working together to create a bustling hive of activity.

One which did not stop for a young viscount. His luggage, his valet and his person were swiftly swept off the boat towards a waiting carriage and - Robert presumed - a waiting driver.

"Mister Crawley?"

Robert looked towards the man, noting the leisurely manner and slow smile. He scowled.

"Actually, it's Lord Downton."

"Not in America." The man held out his hand. "Isidore Levinson."

His American venture had not started well. It was about to get worse.

* * *

"So - _Downton _Abbey." Mr Levinson enunciated the words carefully, as if he had just discovered a new animal species. "Two thousand arable acres - mostly corn."

Robert nodded in confirmation.

"Of course you have no chance of competing with the American Corn Belt. Why not diversify?"

_Why not diversify? _He tried to recall meetings with his father and their steward, before quickly realising he had no credible answer. "I don't have much to do with the business aspects."

"So what doyou do?"

"I..." The question took him by surprise. In England, no one would ask Lord Downton what he _did _- his aristocratic status itself would suffice. "I look after the stables and um..." he searched for something acceptable "...study."

He waited for a skeptical rejoinder; none came. The only sound in the carriage was the slow, rhythmic drumming of the other man's fingers on the seat. Finally-

"Do you see that opera house?" Robert looked out to where the man pointed, seeing only a classical Greek temple incongruously set back from the road and bordered by deciduous trees. "I built it. I've invested in downtown New York, including the Levinson Building, which..." There followed a long list investments and buildings; Robert was relieved when the carriage began slowing down.

"...but real estate doesn't mean anything to my wife and daughter. They want the prestige of a British title." As the carriage stopped, Mr Levinson turned to him, contempt evident in his expression:

"Cora requested your visit. That's why you are here." He paused to ensure Robert understood. "The _only_ reason."

The man stepped down from the carriage sharply, leaving Robert to hurry behind him.

And there she was - the reason he was here, standing outside the house, waiting for him with a shy smile.

"Welcome to America."

* * *

_A/N: I'm sorry - really not very good at updating promptly and I seem to have lost my creative writing muse! Hopefully things will return to normal in September! I've put a lot of thought into Cora's father and 19th century New York but please let me know if I've got something wrong._


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